


Letter from a Mannequin

by Tea_and_Nightmarescapes (Anxious_Trickster)



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Delores swears, Disordered Eating, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Number Five | The Boy-centric, Other, POV First Person, Recovery, This is a hopeful fic I promise, Underage Drinking, but also kinda Second Person POV, no beta we die like men, the tags are a mess, violent imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 04:26:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19124554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anxious_Trickster/pseuds/Tea_and_Nightmarescapes
Summary: On a night with no stars, Delores writes Five a letter.





	Letter from a Mannequin

**Author's Note:**

> Be mindful of the tags.
> 
> For the prompt: _Even old New York was once New Amsterdam ___

Dear Five,

Today went like this, you dragged me 1.5 miles to what was once a drug store, cried for two hours when you couldn’t find food, dragged me back to camp, read a couple hundred pages of _Crime and Punishment_ , and stared at nothing until darkness fell. Today was not terribly unlike any of the other days.

You put a pair of sunglasses on me to block the brightness of the summer, a nice gesture, even if I wish you had saved them for yourself. I worry about you often, but I also know there is no feasible way for you to take care of yourself. Not really. If wishes were horses, I suppose.

I think of how you are coated with dust and ash, and try to imagine how that must hurt your lungs.

The current rations are thusly, a pack of almonds, cake mix, canned tomato sauce, six bottles of water, and half a container of whiskey. You caught four cockroaches throughout the day and well- _Protein is protein_. Tomorrow you will decide to eat the cake mix first, and you will think a bit hysterically- _cake for breakfast_.

Tonight is a night with no stars, as it always is. If I didn’t know any better, I would say you were sleeping soundly (and I would sigh) but from the slack of your jaw, I know that you are really passed out from exhaustion. When the sun rises, you will wake up with heavy limbs, feeling as if you hadn't rested at all.

You will walk. You will look for supplies. You will probably work on equations. You will probably do some heavy drinking. Every day is the same. Every day is the same.

I am the only audience member that has come to see your tragedy, but I am tired of watching you get worn away. I know it’s hard to imagine yourself as anything but rubble and crimson. I also know, you will build a new version of yourself, because _even old New York was once New Amsterdam_. You better be goddamn proud of yourself too, it isn’t nothing to survive the fucking _end of times_.

Remember the time we danced? The smoked blotted out the sun (as it always does), leaving the diffused light to color the entire sky in one even coat. The sunset was an all encompassing _yellow, orange, red, purple_. Every day the sun sets like this, but this sunset was special because it marked the end of the one of the precious Good Days. We were celebrating the first appearance of sprouts. Little buds poking out around the walls of buildings and peaking through the cracks. I remember you telling me they were the most beautiful green you’d ever seen. I remember seeing you _excited_ , I remember seeing your eyes shine, and I agreed - _absolutely beautiful_.

You surprised me with a dress you had been saving for a special occasion such as this. You were bashful in a way you never are. And as the colors faded into one another, you hummed _La Vie En Rose_ , and we swayed, and it was gentle.

Hope is not lost.

You will escape, not in the way you are expecting, but in the way you are tired of hoping for. By God you’ll manage to pull it off, you crazy bastard.

From the apocalypse, from The Commission, from your loneliness: you will escape.

You will rise up again. You will rise up, sauntering, smirking, and whistling _~Istanbul was Constantinople. Now it's Istanbul, not Constantinople~_ under your breath. You will rise up with a bounce in your step that will lighten your chest, and everyone else will be able hear it in the clickety-clack of your shiny black shoes. Get your hands on some pomade and get it up in your hair all gross. Get yourself some fucking _Dark Roast Verona_. Fix your tie. Start a revolution. Save the world.

Some days you will find yourself hardly breathing. That's okay, it will come with practice. When you were six years old, and a monster handed you a gun for the very first time, you were barely able to aim. A far cry from the quick shot you so shamefully pride yourself in. So, as you gasp, and the hollow place in your chest aches, and it feels like there will never be reprieve; do not worry dear, it will all come with practice.

When you hide yourself away from the others, I want you to remember that by letting them see pieces of you, you are not inflicting yourself upon them. That you deserve to be comforted- yes, even after all the things you have done. The wounds you carry are not too gruesome to be kissed with tenderness. Reach out. Your family can be little dim, so they might need a little help figuring it out along the way.

Most days eating will be a chore, which is to be expected. It's easy to skip meals when everything tastes like nothing - but that’s only half the truth isn’t it?

Sleep will be a constant battle. However, you know you aren’t the only one shaking yourself awake in the Hargreeves mansion at night.

It doesn't take you long to realize you don’t know how to be around people anymore. You stick out like a thumb tack (sharp, small, and not to be stepped on) in modern society because all you know is alone. The Commission doesn’t count because they don’t count as people.

You feel ashamed of this because, after all, what does it say about you if you struggle with the most simple facets of being a human being? You’ve always been too hard on yourself Five. There is no need to be impatient because, after all, it will come with practice.

When you hold your niece in your arms for the first time, do not be surprised at the profound sense of wonderment in the realization of just how small she really is. The sound of her giggle will sound more to you like hope, and the echoes of all the times you screamed yourself hoarse will get quieter, just a little. She will smile, and as you grasp her a little tighter, you will smile in return.

There will come a time, when the sun will touch your face, and you’ll close your eyes, and you’ll breathe deeply. It will be an era of painful mending, and it will be yours.

It is then you will wonder, ‘when had the world become so beautiful?’

When you lift your siblings up, when you wipe away tears and spark laughter- I want you to know that I am proud of you. Even when you paint your hands so red that every inhale smells like copper. Even then, I am _so so_ proud of you. I can’t wait to see the day that you find comfort in arms made of warmth, and flesh, and soft words; and not arms made of cold plastic and silence.

The equations will be wrong. Nothing will go as planned. You are going to have to ride the waves as they come, and boy they are going to come crashing. Say hello to a whole new world, you old fool, it will be glorious.

For now, get some rest child, you have a hard morning ahead of you.

With all my Love,

Delores

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone needs it:  
> National Suicide Prevention Lifeline:  
> 1-800-273-8255
> 
> The author just wanted to say something nice to ~~themself~~ their favorite character.
> 
> Give it up to yah boy for their first fic ever.
> 
> Find me on tumbr at @bastard-man555


End file.
